


Colour Me In

by wordwhisper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, artist!zayn, popstar!harry, uni!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordwhisper/pseuds/wordwhisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an art student Zayn had been taught to see the beauty in things, those little details distinguishing the unique from the ordinary and when he meets Harry, lead singer in one of the aspiring bands at their University he’s immedately hooked. After that the stunning boy with the gorgeous, green eyes becomes his muse, the face in every single one of his pictures and he discovers that love isn’t always as easy as it looks like in the movies...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colour Me In

**Author's Note:**

> This does not represent the behaviour, preferences or real life relationships of the mentioned members of One Direction in any way and is generally ridiculously untrue, that’s why it’s called AU. Title from “Colour Me In” by Rae Garvey.

Objectively speaking the whole thing had been Liam’s fault.

Or the fault of the particularly cold winter setting in earlier this year. Or the one of Liam’s boss deciding that one hour of work more wouldn’t hurt anyone. It was strange to think that he might owe some of the best moments of his life to the changeable moods of a coffee shop owner with the charm of one of those cold moccachinos he sold.

Zayn had known Liam since they had been stuck in one of those incredibly boring preparation courses during their first week of University almost two years ago, both just having come to London from their sleepy little home towns and he had shared his cigarette packet with him during the break. After that they had shared almost everything else as well: going out, the first semester parties, endless evenings of studying, the celebrations of their first good results, drunk nights out, their friends and sometimes even their crushes.

Eventually being in each other’s presence became something so natural, so normal that they stopped texting when one of them came over after courses to the point where they had the other one’s spare key as well as their own so moving in together had only seemed like a logical thing to do. Two weeks later they had found a nice little flat near campus that wasn’t too expensive because the house owner made his money almost entirely by selling the rooms to students who didn’t have the cash for the ridiculously overpriced flats in the city center but still big enough for both of them.

Of course living together came with little rituals like movie nights when both didn’t have to do work for Uni, sticking silly notes on the fridge to make each other laugh before they left in the morning or getting drunk together on the weekends and one of them was Zayn fetching Liam from work every Friday after his courses for a pub night. Neither of them could remember how it had started, but it was one of those traditions you just don’t question, which was probably the only reason Zayn went out of the house that day, abandoning the book he still had two chapters to read in on his bed in favor of walking down the three streets it took him to get to the coffee shop. The first snow had fallen the morning before and the rough, icy wind was making it hard to breathe even with his chin pushed into the warm fabric of his scarf.

The lights were still burning in the spacious room, a silent beckoning for the people who looked through the glass windows to come inside and when he opened the door the rich, familiar smell of pastries mixed with the musky note of freshly cooked coffee was almost overwhelming. Normally Liam would already be locking up the shop by the time Zayn arrived, but that night all he had gotten was a quick “just fifteen minutes” before he had disappeared behind the counter again.

“Did he talk you into taking another shift again?”  
“No, we’re just closing a little later today.”

“I don’t really see the difference here to be honest.”

Liam only shot him an annoyed gaze over the pastries he was arranging for the display.

“Look, I know today is a bad day for him to do this, but see the positive. It’s not like we can’t use the money and maybe I’ll even get a little extra cash for the ridiculous amount of coffee we’ve sold today. People seem to buy a lot more of those when it’s cold.”  
“Really? Wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Yes I know it’s crazy isn’t it? Come on, it’s just fifteen minutes, then I’ll close the cash register. Sit down and warm up a little in the meantime. Here.”

He filled one of the cups with coffee and wordlessly slid it over the counter, but this time there was a little smile at least.

“I promise I’ll try to make it quick. It’s not an entire shift after all.”

That had been twenty five minutes ago.

At least Liam had practically paid for his drink so Zayn didn’t complain about the extra time to get some quick sketches done for the project his prof wanted them to finish until the end of the week in addition to the reading. At least that was what he had planned to do, but his paper was still white, white like the snowflakes falling down lazily outside and the complicated patterns of ice painting the windows next to the table he was sitting at.

There weren’t many customers who gave into the promise of warmth the illuminated coffee shop offered this late in the evening despite the freezing cold outside, maybe because a Friday night was the time for stronger drinks than a caramel latte for most of the students who normally dropped by here between their courses. Zayn couldn’t blame them, he hadn’t even known the shop existed until Liam had started working here and he wouldn’t have minded for it to stay that way. He preferred the quiet places, the ones where he could actually think, do something, be productive to the ones like this that were nothing more than a nice way for people to pass the time they didn’t have any better use for.

Zayn took another long sip from the slowly cooling coffee, instinctively winkling his nose at the unpleasant, bitter taste of it that instantly reminded him why he never bought the expensive coffee at those kind of shops if he didn’t have to and almost missed the soft ring of the doorbell behind him announcing another customer.

As an art student Zayn had been taught to see the beauty in things, those little details distinguishing the unique from the ordinary and this experience was part of what caused his gaze to stay on the boy who had come in with a cold rush of snow following him into the shop. Even with the slightly too long winter coat he was wearing and the bright green beanie he had tucked his hair under he was like one of those few pictures from his the art books he really struggled to work with because they were made with so much accuracy that every single line, every shade had to be perfect to make the copy match the expertise of the original.

His features were classic with the exact amount of roughness around the edges, the kind of face you’d expect to find on one of Michelangelo’s paintings rather than in an almost deserted shop in central London.

Before he could think about it Zayn took the pen lying abandoned next to his two sheets of paper and tried to capture what he saw, outlines of long fingers curling around a steaming cup, the straight nose, the way one of his legs was bent as he leaned against the counter.

It was a natural reaction, one of those things he had brought to perfection over the last years, the instinct of an artist in the presence of something extraordinary.

The curls poking out of his beanie, another hand reaching behind to get his wallet.

A girl joined him shortly afterwards, putting an arm around his waist while he paid, but Zayn didn’t see her. His hand was moving over the page almost on its own accord by then in practiced, fast movements.

The form of an eye, his jaw, the defined arch of his eyebrows until the page was covered in quick sketches. That’s how it all started. A boy with ridiculously big shoes and a page full of frantic drawings.

“I see you’ve found your inspiration again.”, was all Liam said when he finally came over from the now-closed counter, “was about time.”  
Zayn couldn’t even say he was wrong.

 

                                                                                                                                              ***

“Zayn seriously come on!”

  
“Can’t you at least wait until I get this one done properly?”

“No I need to make something to eat for us today and we don’t even have eggs.”

“Then cook something else.”

Liam sighed, sitting down on the floor beside his friend to get a better look on the papers scattered across the floor, some of them only half finished impressions of colors and lines.

Zayn didn’t even look up from the sheet he had started to draw two eyes on, outlines stark black with dark irises he was filling in now, a cigarette hanging forgotten from the corner of his mouth. The rest of the paintings were the same, legs, parts of a torso, even two gracious, extremely well drawn feet on their tiptoes but no actual human figure.

“You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

  
The little moment Zayn’s hand paused on one of the eyelashes was the only indication that he had heard him at all.

“Thinking about whom?”

“The boy you saw in the coffee shop. Even I can see that all of this is him or well, the quick glimpses of him you got that night before he went away. I told you he would be your inspiration.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m thinking about him. I’m an artist, Liam, I see something beautiful when it’s in front of me. Yes, he was gorgeous, he had features that would have put any of Leonardo da Vinci’s young men to shame, but that hasn’t got anything to do with attraction in the sense normal people use the word. It’s just the way I am, the way I view the world.”

“How is that possible? How can you be infatuated by someone without actually being attracted to him?”

  
He met Liam’s eyes briefly as if he was contemplating weather he was being serious with is question or not before he set the last line on the upper part of the eyebrow.

“The same way you can admire a good meal or a nice book without loving it. A beautiful physical appearance doesn’t mean I would like the person as well, but it does mean that I have something to work with, something to catch with my drawing.”

  
“Alright Botticelli how about you put that to use now and get us the things we need for lunch?”

Zayn stretched his cramped arms with an exaggerated sigh.

“What do we need?”

This was how he found himself outside again with a quickly scribbled list containing eggs, salt, cereal water and sanitary towels for Liam’s girlfriend, which he was sure had been his weird idea of revenge. It hadn’t stopped snowing during the night so the streets were almost entirely covered in a new, thick layer of brilliant white and judging from the dry cold creeping through every fabric he was wearing with ease it would stay like that for a while.

Maybe they should think about leaving for Uni earlier in case they got stuck somewhere with Liam’s car, an old, red Volvo that looked like it had seen the invasion of the Normans in person. Today with the broaching machine barely able to keep up with the amount of fresh snow they would be lucky if they got anywhere at all.

The supermarket wasn’t much farther away than the coffee shop, an inconspicuous building ducked in between two huge apartment houses and mainly used by the students living in the area. Zayn didn’t particularly enjoy going there, but it was cheap and they even sold his favorite brand of cigarettes so the chronic shortage of money in a student’s wallet decided for him in the end. One of the crucial initial impressions you get about any place you come into is the smell. It doesn’t matter if it’s the flat of another person or a club, you just can’t help it.

In a typical supermarket it’s a chemical, unnatural mix of undefined origin, not the sweet scent of a bakery or the heavy pleasant one of the coffee shop.

The next thing are the colors. Most people don’t stop long enough to notice but for someone who’s been trained to see the balance between too less and too much in this area the aggressive bright yellow or red is overwhelming. Or Zayn just hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

He probably should look for painkillers as well while he was at it. If he was lucky it might even earn him a week without useless grocery shopping with the hangover Liam was still nursing despite his cheery mood.

The first problem a customer is faced with the moment he actually starts going through the aisles of a typical English supermarket the is that they don’t follow any visible logic considering the order and arrangement of the products there, which wouldn’t really be an issue if there would have been someone to ask, but that was the next problem: They never seem to have any employees, especially not the smaller ones like the one he was going through now hence a visit to them always means a lot of uselessly passed time, many lost nerves and even more frustration at the end of it.

Due to that it was pretty easy to distinguish between regular customers, who moved effortlessly through the aisles because they always bought the same anyway and the ones coming there the first time who were walking around a lot more frantic with their brows furrowed in irritation. Another positive side of the strange order in the shop was that you could do practically everything without drawing too much attention, which made it possible for Zayn to spend twenty minutes in front of the huge shelf in the chemist section without getting too many weird looks. Even the three women chatting beside him probably thought he had somehow gotten lost on his way to the alcoholic beverages.

As it had been almost three years since he’d had a girlfriend he had forgotten just how big this section filled with menstrual hygiene products from at least three companies in a never-ending variety raging from light to extra strong was. Why on earth did girls need five different kinds of sanitary towels? Where was the difference?

“Looking for something, too?”

Zayn almost dropped the bright pink package he had been holding at the unexpected sound of a deep, husky voice beside him, warm and syrup-slow like molten chocolate. The first thought he had when he saw him this close was: green. They are green. He had deliberately kept the eyes on his drawings black, because he had quickly noticed that he didn’t know the color of them, just their shape, the way they had stood out under the neon lamps in the coffee shop.

Now he did. Green, a rich, dark emerald color with little sparkles of gold as if they had permanently caught a little chip of the sunlight inside them.

The only word he could think of to describe the rest of him was bright. Everything looked warm and soft, blurred around the edges by the lightning above them, the brown curls poking out of his beanie, the long, lean lines of his body, the loose sweater, even the ridiculously big shoes he had worn on the night before as well.

“Kind of, yes although I’m feeling rather lost right now to be honest.”

The boy smiled, two dimples showing in his cheeks and Zayn felt the inexplicable urge to take out his journal and add them to the sketches inside.

“You’ll learn quickly believe me.”, he said, casually dropping a package of tampons into his own shopping basket hanging from his arm. Well then.

“I suppose so.”

“I like your taste in cereals. Chocolate is the best.”

“My flat mate loves them.", Zayn explained while he dropped a package in as well to keep up the impression that he had a valid reason to be here at all, "He’s always late and it’s the food you can eat the quickest in the morning so it’s a win-win situation.”

The boy laughed and added a package of sanitary towels to the tampons.

“Good argument. What does he study?”

“English literature.”

“Ah yes those are always late.  I have the fun of watching them sprint to their classes from my room.”

Zayn smiled weakly before he finally settled on a neon green package to keep up the impression that he at least partly knew what he was doing there.

“Let me guess. Psychology?”

“Almost. History and you?”

“Art.”

“That’s amazing! I’ve always wanted to do something creative, too, but apart from playing guitar I've never really been good at anything.”

“Well everyone kept saying my name is made for an aspiring artist so I thought why not?”

The boy smirked, slow and deliberate.

“Really? Why don’t you tell me so you can judge myself?”

“Zayn.”

“Zayn.", he repeated, slowly like he was tasting the syllables on his tongue, " Yes, that’s definitely fitting. I’m afraid I’m not that lucky, I’m not named after a big king or leader, not even after a general.”

“Not even a little general? What a cruel fate! What’s your name then?”

“Harry.”

“Well that’s bad for all the kings and leaders. I’m sure this strong, meaningful name would have looked amazing as a caption for their entries in history books.”

Harry raised an eyebrow while they both started moving towards the cashier box.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I’d never do that!", Zayn grinned, taking a pack of milk out from a shelf beside them, "It suits you. The subject and the name.”

“Tell me about your courses then. Do you like it?”

Harry came up behind him, a solid warmth in his back as he reached for a box of Jogurt a bit higher up. 

“Yeah, it’s nice…I guess.”

“Just nice?”, he asked and even though he wasn't looking at Harry Zayn could hear the amusement in his voice, "doesn't sound that great to me."

“It’s quite demanding and time-consuming sometimes, but yes, I really enjoy it. I wouldn’t have chosen it if I didn’t.”

Zayn turned a package of cheese in his hands, a French brand he'd never seen before with tiny cows on the front. Liam would probably love it.

“How long have you been studying now?”

“Almost three years.”

“In my opinion to be able to say you can still motivate yourself after such a long time is the biggest compliment you can make.”, Harry said, giving him a quick-side smile that was brimming with the same kind of restlessness the rest of him was, "so I think you're doing pretty good."

“What about you?”

“I’m in my second year so you need to wait a bit until I can give my final answer.”

A couple passed them with a huge shopping trolley, the mother trying to get the little boy with blonde hair on her arms to stop crying while the father was so busy looking at the shopping list that he almost knocked Harry in the back of his leg with ithe metal wheels.

“Speaking of motivation, I really need to get going or either my flat mate or my prof are going to kill me and I still need to finish my project for next week as well.”

“What’s the topic?”

“Nothing major.", Zayn answered when they both started walking again slowly ,"We have to draw a human form in a difficult position we chose.”

He had to fight hard not to let a blush give away the evening he had spent capturing his facial features, which was ridiculous in itself. He couldn’t even make a normal statement without acting like a school girl with a massive crush around him. Yes, ridiculous was a good word. Harry didn’t seem to notice though, he just gave him another broad, dazzling smile.

“Well good luck then. I have the Persian War waiting for me, too.”

They had almost reached the exit by then, standing in the no man’s land between the shelves and the boxes filled with sweets or ‘nightmare for every parent’ as Liam always called them.

“Sounds fun.”

“I hope I get to see your paintings one day. Or well, you know, at least get to hear how the project went.”

“Me, too. About your Persians, I mean.”

Way to be eloquent, he thought, great answer. He didn’t know what exactly, but something about Harry made him stumbling for words in a way he never had before. It was like one of those cheesy movie moments where you can’t help but feel second hand embarrassment for the poor boy desperately trying to charm his girl. Or first-hand embarrassment in his case because now it was him who was acting weird without any reason. He couldn’t remember being particularly shy, not like this and he had certainly been capable of more than short half-hearted answers. Harry still laughed at his weak attempt at being cheeky, a happy, barking sound he immediately tried to cover up with his hands as if it had surprised him, too.

It was so endearing that Zayn had to bite back a grin.

“So I’ll see you around?”

“Definitely.”

That night when he had enough time to concentrate on his work his sheets were full of emerald green and dimples.

 

                                                                                                                                                       ***

 

Zayn blamed it on the unhealthy amount of Modigliani he’d had to look at the day before. And the lack of sleep. But mostly Modigliani. There was no other possible explanation for the fact that Niall was the first person he told about Harry. They both worked at an old music shop whose existence was a little wonder in itself in times of ITunes and download music, but maybe this was part of what had made him apply there shortly after Liam had started taking his first shifts at the coffee shop. He had instantly loved the atmosphere as well, the distinct smell of dust and the charm of the real, touchable feeling of the CDs not many seemed to value. And there was Niall of course. When they had met on Zayn’s second day at work he had seen the guitar first, then the actual boy and it hadn’t changed after that.

Being a music student the big section of musical instruments with some of the best guitars available at the moment had been the main motivation to work in the shop for Niall just like the CDs had been for him. Zayn couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t seen him trying out chords for a new song before the first customers came in or accompanying one of the songs being played on the radio they always listened to.

They had gotten on extremely well from the very start even though no-one had understood why. Niall was the kind of person everyone wanted to be around, bright in a way that made it impossible to resist him, outgoing and always with a ready smile on his lips.

No matter how hard things were he was one of the persons who made you feel better just by being in their presence and he had no problem charming every customer in seconds.

The fact that he studied music and could play the guitar, which was probably the most fool-proof way to get a girl, added to the whole picture immensely as well of course.

Zayn was much more quiet, distanced and careful with his words if he was forced to speak so he perfectly understood why everyone thought they couldn’t work, but somehow they did.

Niall covered up when Zayn smoked in the shop and Zayn for Niall when he had a date somewhere he didn’t want to miss during the working hours, a strong team.

They balanced each other out where they were different and both of them being involved in artistic professions gave them enough common ground to build something so good on it that they eventually felt like they had not only gained a close friend but a brother, too.

It had all started with Niall coming up beside him to join him at the counter with their customary cups of coffee and a rather innocent “Who’s that?”

“Who’s who?”

“The boy you’re drawing.”, Niall tapped a finger on the paper he had just tried to finish his last outline for the project on during their break: A boy on his knees, hands resting on the floor behind him and head thrown back. It was one of the most difficult positions of the human body he’d worked on so far and not just because the mental image was more than a little distracting.

“What makes you so sure that he exists outside my imagination?”

“No way. If you have such a good imagination I’m giving you the probs, but I don’t belive it. He’s too hot to be just a picture on a sheet of paper.”

Zayn glared at him over the rim of his glasses.

“Hot?”

Niall shrugged, leaning against the edge of the table as he took a long sip of his coffee, the mug so hot it was still steaming between his hands. 

“Just because I prefer girls doesn’t mean I don’t see a fit guy when he’s in front of me. Do you at least know his name?”

“Harry.”

“So you met him?”

“Only once. Properly.”

Of course he didn’t let Zayn get away with it that easily.

“Properly?”

“The first time I didn’t talk to him. I just watched him.”

Niall laughed at that, hard enough to almost spill the coffee over Zayn’s drawings.

“Stalked more likely.”

“Shut up seriously.", Zayn huffed after he'd taken a proper drink of his own cup as well, "You have no idea of how an artist’s mind works.”

“Enlighten me then. What is this project about you used him for?”

“The male body.”

The low creak of their CD player standing below the desk broke the silence when Niall fumbled with the antenna a bit, shreds of a song from a mixtape someone'd left inside coming through the speakers. 

“Is that the artistic term for porn?”, he asked with a quick gaze up from his hands,  "nice." 

Zayn gave him his best blank stair across the table, coffe still in one hand while he turned back to Niall from where he'd been watching the people pass the shop outside.

“What kind of statement is that?”

“Well you spend a big part of your lectures looking at hot, naked models, what do you expect me to think?”

“I don’t even know why I put up with you.", Zayn said, putting his half- empty  cup back on the table to start working again at some point ,"Not everyone is as dirty minded as you are.”

“Zayn.”

Niall’s voice was slow as if he was trying to explain something completely obvious to a particularly stubborn child

“You drew him on his knees. I hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t get much more dirty minded than that.”

“You still don’t get it do? This is art. Someone who does this for a living is able to shut out everything completely once he starts working. The woman or man he draws can be completely naked and the most beautiful human being he’s ever laid eyes upon and he still wouldn’t even think about doing something sexual with them, because they are art for him. A mean to practice his skills, to get better. He doesn’t see them as a person he could be sexually attracted to or sleep with.”

“Great now that you have finished your nice little speech can you at least tell me if you’ve found out if he has – how’d you call it? – “laid his eyes” upon you as well?”

Another creak, then the stero worked, something that sounded like the Arctic monkeys starting to play on low volume.

“No, I don’t.", Zayn said, firmly, "As I said I’m not interested.”

“Why did you talk to him the second time then?”

“Because he talked to me first. And he was quite nice so I didn’t mind.”

Niall rolled his eyes even though he still wasn't looking on Zayn, wiping of the dust from the CD player on his jeans. 

“And you’re telling me you didn’t get anything out of it? Not even a little hint? Or at least found out if he’s into boys at all?”

“No, I’m pretty sure he isn’t.”

“How’s that?”

Zayn sighed and stretched a little, the pen rolling on the paper beside him a bit with the movment.

“He bought a package of tampons and one of sanitary towels during our conversation and unless he uses them himself I’m pretty sure they were for his girlfriend.”

“And he was flirting with you while he did it? I think I already like him.”

“He wasn’t flirting with me!", he scoffed as he watched Niall take the player back to the shelf behind the counter to put up there, "He was just being polite.”

“Of course. I’m always being polite to complete strangers too and have long conversations in between the aisles with them while I go shopping for my better half.”

“You don’t even have a better half.”

“That’s not the point!"

Niall flopped back on the counter, reaching for his slowly cooling coffee. 

"The point is that you need to get a move on! You won’t get him if you don’t try.”

“Thanks for your educated opinion. Can we go back to work now?”

“No we can’t until you promise me to at least try it.", Niall said, the low jiggle of keys accompaning the last words when he pulled them out ofh is pocket, "I’ve wanted you to find someone for so long and I’m not letting you give up just because he doesn’t immediately realize how gone you are for him.”

Zayn didn't even bother to look up at Niall from the sketch he'd been staring to draw again, the bow of an eyebrow this time, heard that he must have been gotten up from the shuffle of his feet on the floor. 

“I’m not gone for him.”

“Again, past the point."

There was another shuffling noise somewhere further on the left, probably Niall getting on his jacket.

"If it doesn’t work out that’s totally fine, but at least give it a try, have a little fun. Just look at your cheekbones, those long eyelashes. You’re gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. If I was into boys at all I’d die to get a chance with you. You just have to put a little effort in it.”

“Niall, I’m serious. I don’t have time for this.”

“Why not?", Niall called from what Zayn supposed was near the door now, "You have been whining about not having someone at home to pamper for the last four months and now that you get a change to change that you’re running away from it! Maybe I should teach you a few guitar skills. Everyone knows a good performance is the easiest way to get any girl you want and I’m pretty sure it works for boys as well.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. Go and play the guitar. Maybe you’ll woo a few customers.”

“How about a ‘thanks Niall you’re the best’ first?”

Zayn rolled his eyes, gaze still set firmly on where he'd moved on to the the sharp line of a jaw below the eyebrows he hadn't been able to get quite right the whole morning.

“Piss off.”

“I’m going to get us something for lunch. Try to think about the importance and value of a good friend in the meantime.”

Zayn was almost relieved when the annoying bell hanging over the door rang at least until he saw who the new customer was. Harry didn’t notice him at first, because he was talking to the girl following him inside, the same one he had seen at the coffee shop while he let his eyes wander over the shelves. From what he could hear from the counter she was trying to tell him something about song chords and the advantages of country guitars, but he barely seemed to listen aside from occasional nods, absent-mindedly running his fingers over the dusted spines of the CDs they were passing. He looked even softer with the halo of brown curls framing his face that were twirling even more now where snowflakes had melted on them and Zayn briefly wondered how unprofessional it would be to disappear into the back.

“Hey I didn’t know you work here!”

Too late.

“I have for almost two years now.”

“That must be amazing. I would love to be able to spend so much time here.”

“Yeah. It’s cool.”

Harry didn’t seem to get the message of his monosyllabic answer at all, quite the contrary. He turned to get a quick look at the back of the shop before he smiled at him and said the worst thing possible:

“Well I could use a bit of help choosing my new guitar to be honest. I mean, only if you have time and aren’t, you know, busy and stuff.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

  
“That’s so great! He has kept telling me about all the different models and I still don’t have a clue so it’s good to have someone who can help. I wouldn’t want my baby to be disappointed.”

Zayn gagged internally at the disgusting coupley-ness and calculated how angry the shop owner would be if he threw something at a customer. The girl seemed to notice his discomfort, but in contrary of what he’d expected she just smirked. She was probably one of those girls who enjoyed watching two guys she found hot make out or something.

“My pleasure. Follow me to the back, we’ll talk there.”

For a brief second an irritated furrow appeared between Harry’s brows, then he pushed himself off the counter without another word to do as he was told. Not that it mattered. If he had any idea about musical instruments it wouldn’t take him long to realize that Zayn normally worked in the CD section and left the teenage girls with painted fingernails who probably had never touched an instrument before to Niall, who got them drooling with a few chords or a some overused pick-up lines.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

  
“My flatmate broke two strings on the last one so one with all five would be great. Not too expensive, you know a student’s budget, but it shouldn’t sound like someone is trying to play on iron sheets either.”

“Do you play professionally?”

Harry nodded, biting at his bottom lip with his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jacket and it shouldn’t have looked as adorable as it did.

“Yeah, I’m in a band.”

“Famous?”

“If playing at shabby Uni parties and smoke-filled pubs makes you famous, then yes.", he said, a little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Otherwise, not really.”

“Try this one.”

Zayn pulled down the nearest western guitar with a dark brown pattern on it he vaguely remembered Niall dote over and handed it over to Harry with a weak smile.

“My colleague here always plays on it so I can assure you it at least sounds good. Not sure about the price though, I’d have to look it up.”

Harry’s smile was blinding, all dimples and white, big teeth.

“Thanks.”

He sat down on one of the chairs in the back, carefully placing the guitar on his lap and experimentally played a slow, sweet tune Zayn thought he knew from some pop song. His long fingers moved over the stings in a way that made it look so easy when it really wasn’t while he softly hummed along to it, completely lost in the music. The artistic part of him immediately began to capture every single movement, the gracious, slender form of his hands, how his hair fell into his eyes every time he leaned forward, the perfect profile of his nose.

It was almost too silent when he finally stopped, shooting him another beaming smile.

“I like it. I’ll talk to the rest of the band about the money and come back. You’ll still have it in a few days will you?”

“I think so, yes.", Zayn said, hands in his pockets to keep them somewhere he wouldn't be tempted to touch, "Not many of the people coming here are interested in buying instruments. Most of them get stuck at the CD shelves.”

Harry laughed, eyes sparkling and Zayn was so, so gone for this boy.

“Good for me.”

“Yeah. I guess.”, he muttered eloquently while he took the guitar from Harry’s offering hands to put it back on the wall between the others.

“Did you find something?”

Of course. Wouldn’t want to forget the lovely girlfriend, would we? She wrapped an arm tightly around Harry’s waist, her perfectly manicured had even squeezing his side a little in an unmistakable message of "back off, he’s mine". Harry’s eyes stayed locked on Zayn, not even looking at her when he finally answered.

“Yes, Zayn is the best at his job. He found the perfect one.”

He wondered when flirting with other guys while your girlfriend stands beside you became acceptable in a functioning relationship.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll come back soon to get it, alright? If something goes wrong give me a ring or a text here.” He handed him a tiny business card with a band logo on it that looked like he had carried in his pockets for months, “I’m sorry I don’t have a better one. My band mate designed it for the time we’d need something like that to hand out if we ever got lucky enough to be discovered, but up to now no one was interested so it remained the only one, still with our old band logo and all phone numbers. Mine is the one with the H in front of it.”  
The hopeful expression on his face was so cute that Zayn couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thanks.”

When Niall came back twenty minutes later the only thing he noticed was that the guitar hung a little loop-sided on its place on the wall. He side-eyed Zayn with a crocked eyebrow while he put a cheese sandwich on the table where Zayn had started working on his sketches again.

“Did you try to clean up?”

“Harry was here. He tried it out.”

If he had thought this would settle things, he had been wrong.

“Seriously? Did you finally get your boy then?”

“No.”

The moment he saw Niall’s smug smile he knew even mentioning Harry had been a mistake.

“So what happened? And don’t tell me nothing, because I won’t believe you.”

“But it’s the truth. Nothing happened.", Zayn sighed, putting his pen aside because there was no way he was going to get anything done now, "He came here, looked for a guitar, I gave him the one hanging a little strangely now, he tried it, gave me his number and that was it.”

“He gave you his number? Well done mate, I knew you had it in you.”

Niall slapped his shoulder lightly, which caused the nose he was drawing to look more like the one of a witch in a cliché children’s movie than the one he had intended. He sighed, putting away the pen.

“It’s not what you think. This is just for work, to call him if something goes on and stuff. The things we do with every client.“

“And you seriously don’t want to use it like you should? Ask him out or something? Call him? Text him?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but no.”

“Why not?”

Zayn rolled his eyes, rubbing over the jaw on his sheet for a few shade effects.

“I already told you.”

“Then tell me again. I don’t understand you.”

“She was there again.”

“And?”

“He has a girlfriend.”

 

                                                                                                                                                    ***

 

“He has a girlfriend. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“That’s not possible. No way.”

Harry groaned and pressed his face into the cool fabric of his pillow to escape the too bright sunlight coming through the open curtains of the bedroom he shared with his flat mate. A flat mate who apparently had no other interests than waking him up at an inacceptable hour to ask him about his non-existent relationship. Living together didn’t only have advantages.

“Is that why you woke me up?”  
“No, I’m just trying to find something to talk about so you don’t pass out again before you have a chance to get up properly and since Zayn is the thing you talk about most at the moment I figured it would work. You slept through your alarm so I thought I’d help the poor thing.”

“What time’s it?”

“Almost seven.”

“’s early.”

“I know.”

Louis’ voice became soft while he softly ran his hand up and down Harry’s back in an unspoken apology for having to do this.

“When did you come home last night?”

“Four.”

“That’s crazy mate! They can’t do that.”

Harry raised his head, gaze still a little blurry with tiredness and curls an untamed halo around his face, only the dark shadows under his eyes indicating how exhausted he really was. Louis had lost count of the mornings he had seen him like this, fighting to stay awake after he had gotten almost no sleep the previous night and no matter how happy Harry had been about getting the job at the club in the beginning it was becoming clear that what they made him do there wasn’t healthy. Sometimes he only had one hour between the end of his shift and his first class in the morning and every time Louis heard him stumble into flat, movements clumsy from the need to sleep and barely able to keep himself upright or saw him rush out of the flat without breakfast and fighting to keep his eyes open he vowed to make him end this before it got too bad.

He had basically seen him grow up from the innocent, wide-eyed boy who had asked him if he had a spare room in his flat on a cold spring day two years earlier into a gorgeous, nineteen year old man who was ready to take on the world so he felt like he was responsible for him in some way. Of course they always needed money just like any other student of their age, especially since they had started the band, but this price was too high.

“Why not? They’re paying me so they set the conditions.”

  
“This is inhuman Harry. You haven’t slept properly in weeks. I don’t care how many money you earn there, your health is more important. This job isn’t everything. You have classes to pass and you won’t be able to concentrate on anything if you are so tired that you have trouble walking a few steps straight. I won’t let you ruin yourself like that before you even turn twenty.”  
“I’m not ruining myself. It wasn’t even that late, I just had to wait for the bus.”

  
“That’s exactly the problem. You shouldn’t be working into hours were not even the busses drive anymore and stand in the cold for almost two hours until you can come home.”  
“It was just one hour.”

Even he himself could hear that his attempt was very feeble. He blamed it on the tiredness threatening to pull him back into a dreamless sleep again the moment he stopped talking.

“It doesn’t matter how long it was. You stood there in the cold for far too long and are so worked over that you can’t even keep your eyes open properly.”

“But it was my choice. It’s hard and I get why you’re worried, but it isn’t as bad as it looks. We don’t have to do heavy physical work and most of the time I really enjoy it.”

Louis sighed, folding his hands in his lap.

  
“All I’m saying is that you aren’t doing yourself any good, Harry. None of this is healthy. You need your strength for more important things than mixing drinks or clearing up puke in some deserted corner. This needs to stop.”

Harry rubbed a hand over his face, desperately trying to hold in a yawn.

“I’m looking for other jobs you know that.”

“Then keep looking. I won’t let you do this any longer that’s for sure.”

“Yeah I know.”, Harry murmured as he watched Louis get up from the bed again, "just please not...right now, alright? I'm tired."

“I’m making us coffee. Try to dress and not to fall asleep on the floor, alright?”

“I will. Thanks mum.”, 

“That’s it, I’m never making you breakfast again!”, Louis laughed, playfully poking Harry’s ribs, “you’re so ungrateful.”

“You still love me.”

“That’s true. Sadly.”

After he left it took all the willpower Harry could find not to give into the temptation of the deliciously warm sheets beneath him, but to stand up and get dressed instead.

Maybe Louis had been right. He wouldn’t be able to function much longer with just two hours sleep a night even if it meant giving up a promising source of money he needed to pay his part of the rent.

He slipped on the first pair of jeans and an old, black Ramones shirt he hoped was from the pile of washed clothes, then he followed the beckoning smell of fresh coffee into their little kitchen. Louis was already setting pancakes on two plates for them, stopping only to give Harry a quick smile.

“I see you made it alive.”

“Yes, I did. This smells delicious.”

It was a lie, because he strongly doubted he would be able to eat anything right now no matter how good it looked or smelled, but he figured it was a justified one.

“So what are your plans for today?”, Louis asked while he placed the plate in front of him, “ready to take over the world?”

“No, just lectures. Nothing dramatic.”

The long yawn following his sentence made him question if he would even capable of doing that without passing out in the middle of the first sentence.

“I wasn’t talking about Uni. I was talking about your man.”

“He’s not my man!”

“But you want him to be, same thing.”

“No it’s not.", Harry protested, picking at the edge of one of the pancakes with his fork ,"I’m not going to try to sabotage a relationship especially if he isn’t even into boys at all.”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you didn’t even find out if he’s at least bi-curious? I’m disappointed Styles.”

Louis took a sip of his coffee, the smell suddenly so nauseating even across the table that Harry was barely able to swallow his bite.

“I didn’t see any reason why I should. He clearly wasn’t interested in me at least and that was enough for me to know.”

“Did he tell you so?”

“Lou, please. I’m too tired to be having this conversation right now.”

  
“I’m not going to pressure you into anything, but let me give you one advise: Ask him out to our concert on Friday. If he doesn’t make a move after that you’ll know he really hasn’t got any intention to get together with you. If he does, you’ll finally be able to seduce him properly and I won’t have to listen to you telling me how hot he looked anymore.”

  
All of this had sounded absolutely convincing in the security of their flat, but now that he was actually standing in front of the small music shop again with the money Josh, the second guitarist of their band, had given him so he could afford the guitar he had promised Zayn to buy he wasn’t that sure anymore.

If he was being honest he still knew absolutely nothing about him, not even if he worked here today, much less how he would react if he saw him again after such a short time.

The whole thing could go terribly wrong, which was more likely than the opposite from how he always seemed to drip over his own feet or stumble over his words in front of people he liked and in this case he wasn’t exactly keen on finding out just how bad it would be.

On the other hand he really needed the guitar, he hadn’t lied about that.

And he wasn’t sixteen anymore, was he? He could do this. He definitely could.

With one last, deep breath he opened the door with numb fingers from the cold outside.

Zayn stood at the counter, which was good because it meant he would at least get the chance to talk to him, raising his head at the ringing sound he produced.

He didn’t say anything tough, obviously waiting for Harry to explain his presence. Which he did or at least tried to.

“How’d the project go?”

  
Well it was a start at least.

“Quite good so far. It’s not finished yet, but I’m working on it. I suppose you ‘ve talked to your band mates about the guitar then?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here actually. They gave me the money yesterday so I thought I’d drop buy after my classes and get it if that’s, you know, possible. If not that’s totally fine then I’ll just come back tomorrow and…”

“Come to the back with me. We need to pack it up a bit.”

  
There was a little smile playing around Zayn’s lips and it at least felt like a start.

Harry watched from the entrance of the instrument section how he got the guitar down from its spot on the wall and carefully put it into one of the special casings sold with them, hands stuffed deep in his pockets more to keep them busy than anything else.

“Here you go. If there’s something wrong with it don’t hesitate to come back.”

  
“Thanks. I’m sure it’ll work fine. I had a good advisor after all.”

  
He was rewarded with another smile for that while Zayn got his change out of the cash box. Maybe this was what gave him the courage to finally go for it or the fact that he wasn’t looking at him directly when he said it, his voice much more insecure than he would have liked it to be.

“I told you I was in a band and we have a concert this Friday at the little Irish pub just down this street. You don’t have to, but since this will be the first time this guitar is going to be put to use I thought you’d probably like to come. You can bring a friend, too, if you want, we’re always happy to have new people to play in front of.

Zayn’s hands stopped moving for a moment, then he met his eyes again, still smiling.

“I’d love to.”

 

                                                                                                                                               ***

 

“I told you he had the hots for you!”

“He just invited me to their concert. This means absolutely nothing.”

“Zayn he basically asked you out. How much more obvious does he need to get for you to stop whining and finally get a move on?”

Zayn sighed, tossing another T-Shirt on the bed beside Liam.

“What do you even wear to a thing like this? It’s not a proper concert in a venue and not a pub night. Everything I tried looks ridiculous.”

“You should hear yourself. You sound like a teenage girl about to get ready for her first date. You’ll look like an Armani model no matter what you wear so just toss on a shirt and some kind of jeans and you’ll be fine. It’s not like they are going to stay on long anyway.”

  
“Oi are you implying I’m easy?”

Liam just smirked, which was enough of an answer in itself.

“No, I’m implying that you’ve been daydreaming about this for almost an entire week now so I don’t think you’ll waste your chance to finally get to it or at least I hope so for your sake.”  
“I’m not planning to get onto anything.”

  
“Of course. Now get dressed or we’ll be stuck here until next year.”

Zayn gave him what he hoped was an annoyed look over his shoulder, but obliged, settling on the most comfortable pair of jeans he could find and a loose shirt just like Liam had suggested. As the walk wasn’t that long he decided a hoodie should be enough to provide a little shelter from the cold outside.

it had finally stopped snowing so they at least had a chance of arriving there without getting stuck. By the time they left their flat it was already completely dark outside even though it was barely past seven and the street lanterns drew strange patterns of light on the muddy snow on the sides of the street. Some of the shops had already put up their Christmas decoration in the display windows ranging from sparkly Santa Claus figurines to neon colored porcelain balls with cheesy reindeer motives hanging from dry looking fir tree branches.

Outside a few fairy lights in various forms speckled the floor with golden dots and Zayn wondered how he had managed to miss all of this.

Hee blamed it on Modigliani again. He had been the one to trap him in his flat for weeks trying to figure out the hidden meaning of his paintings after all.

Even if they wouldn’t have known where the pub was the faint noise of conversation and the first, hesitant chords of a guitar would have made it impossible for them to miss it.

Niall was already waiting outside, the beaming smile on his face clearly visible even though he had it half-hidden in the fabric of his woolen scarf.

“So Zayn’s finally going to get his man tonight, eh?”

“Seriously why do you have to do this every single time? Even if I had planned to do get anyone tonight you would have absolutely ruined the mood by now.”

  
The only response he got was a shared gaze with smug smiles on both sides so Zayn gave up any hope that they would be of any help that night.

  
“Well then we can’t let you wait any longer can we? I bet he looks hot on stage.”

  
“Yes, I saw him at the bar with his friends just before you arrived. He’s a nice catch, I have to admit that.”

  
“Thanks for the reminder. I really wouldn’t have known that without you.”

“Good then let’s go in before it gets too crowded and someone snatches the front row seats from us.”

  
Niall hadn’t exaggerated in that point at last. The pub was well filled even for a Friday evening, the only remaining seats four chairs at the left side of the little stage the owner had strategically set up in front of the bar. The whole room from the walls to the massive tables seemed to be made of wood, giving it the warm, cozy atmosphere that drew so many people into it each day. A few young girls with skirts so short that he wondered how they had managed not to freeze in them and too much make up gave them not-so-subtle once overs when they walked past them, but apart from Niall’s little wink neither of them paid further attention to them.

“Should I get us something to drink?”

  
“A beer would be great.”, Liam said, shooting Zayn a quick-side look, “and I bet Zayn could use one as well.”

He just nodded, watching how the last few people followed the call of the music or the promise of a warm room inside and gathered in the back. Zayn even recognized some of the faces he had seen at campus a few times and it made him realize just how much he must have missed if this band already had such an impressive fan base among the students.

Modiglani definitely owed him.

Niall barely had time to set down their bottles in front of them before the lights suddenly went out. This fraction of a second everyone has been waiting for, the tension almost touchable everything while everything becomes so silent that you can almost hear the audience holding its breath before the band comes on stage and everything explodes into a sea of screams and raised arms had always been Zayn’s favorite thing about going to a venue or a pub gig like that. It wasn’t different this time.

The man climbing up the stage under the excited shrieks of the girls around them now was one of Harry’s band mates, tall with light brown hair swept across his forehead in a fringe and the dark shirt he was wearing enhancing his muscular arms.

“Thank you so much for coming here tonight, this really means a lot for us. We’ve been working on a few new songs over the past months and we’re more than a little excited to play them for you for the first time at this concert. I won’t waste any more time with big speeches, because you came here for the music and not for the talking after all so we’re just going right into it and start with our first song. You’ve already seen us, the music behind the band, but now let’s welcome the voice on stage. Give it up for the one and only Harry Styles.”

  
Nothing, no amount of beautiful models he'd had to draw during his courses, no looking at exquisite works of the best artists in the world would have been able to prepare him for the sight when Harry came up stage. Everything about him was like the hazy dream of an especially talented artist come to life: The stupid bandana he had pulled his hair back with and somehow worked perfectly for him, the stark contrast between the black, ripped skinny jeans and the porcelain color of his skin, the tattoos scattered across his arms and even how he had tucked the sleeveless, black shirt into his waistband in a way that perfectly enhanced the sinful curves of his hips. Out of all the stunning paintings he had seen, all the endless evenings he had tried to spend to memorize the most praised works of art human hands had created Harry was the masterpiece.

Even his voice fitted him perfectly, the tone smooth and warm like the rest of him was with the exact right amount of roughness to send shivers down his spine with every harmony he sang. His eyes were half closed while he put everything he had into the music, not even focused on the crowd or the rest of the band, mouth moving carefully around the lyrics in a way that made it impossible to look away, eyebrows furrowed in concentration every time the song became particularly emotional. There were little droplets of sweat dripping down the long line of his neck to the sharp expanse of his collarbones all the way down to where a wingtip of a swallow tattoo was poking out of his shirt and Zayn could feel his breath catching in his throat, the beer long forgotten on the table in front of him.

They had often been told that even though it was the most important skill of an artist to be able to show what he wanted to in his work in reality the biggest compliment for something was to be so overwhelming, so breathtaking that it couldn’t be captured with words or a pen and for the first time in his life he began to understand what it really meant. The really important moments in life aren’t the ones you can describe or put onto a sheet of paper, but the ones that take your breath away completely with their intensity and where the overwhelming load of emotions flowing through every fiber of your body leaves you completely speechless until you can do nothing but feel and experience.

That was the only thing he could remember at the end of the concert. Not a song, the words they had said in between or the music. He remembered how it had felt, a constant rush of emotions until the music stopped far too soon. The applause was insanely loud, reaching to the corners in the back, but even then Harry was all Zayn could see in the midst of the roaring noise around him. He was beaming with the absolute happiness of someone who knew he had done a good job, who had reached everything he had dreamed of, incredibly touchable with his skin shining golden under the fabric of his shirt and yet unreachable. He was stunning, absolutely stunning.

If Zayn had thought it would get easier once he came down stage and out of the light of the stage he had been wrong. Absolutely, totally wrong.

Harry seemed to be completely obvious to the way he had trouble keeping his train of thought around him or stop staring at him when he was glowing and on top of the world like this, because there was no other explanation for the fact that the first thing he asked him when he sat down on the top of the counter beside him with his own bottle of beer was:

  
“Did you like it?”

Zayn could only look at him for a few moments, getting used to the fact that he was so close and right there, unable to tell him just how stupid this question had been in every way.

“Yes, it was great. You should have told me that I’m friends with such a big popstar.”, was what he finally settled upon. Harry’s laugh was refreshing, a delicious, soft sound he could have listened to all day.

“I’m not that famous. Actually not at all. This is as big as our gigs get and even that is mostly the work of friends of friends giving us a stage to perform a little. My flat mate Louis works here on weekends for example, that’s why their owner lets us give a little concert every once in a while. If I really was a popstar I would be playing the O2 arena by now instead of studying history.”

  
Zayn laughed, too while he took another sip.

“Good point, but I’m sure that’s going to change soon if you continue like this. Maybe I should ask you for an autograph before everyone else does and you won’t remember me anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

Zayn ignored the hot rush of want this simple sentence sent through him.

“What about your girlfriend though? She must be so proud.”

  
For a moment Harry’s forehead furrowed in confusion, the realization slowly dawned on him.

“Wait do you mean Marley? The one who came to your shop with me?”

  
Zayn nodded, his gaze fixed on his drink, only looking up when Harry started laughing again.

“That’s hilarious actually. No, we’re most definitely not dating, this would be a bit like incest. We’ve known each other for so long that we’re practically related. I can’t even remember a time where she hasn’t been my best friend.”

He stopped for a moment, taking another sip from his own beer.

“What about you though? Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“No, I don’t. The package I bought when we first met was for my flat mate’s girlfriend even though this probably sounds totally weird now. We've known each other for almost three years as well now, she was one of my first friends here even before she and Liam started dating.”

“Did you introduce them?”

“I’ve made sure he wasn’t drunk when they first met in a club, told her about his qualities and made sure they got stuck in my atelier together one time so if that counts I did, yes.”  
Harry grinned, happy and glowing.

“How romantic.”

“Not really. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“I still think it was nice. I would like to be able to say I helped someone become happy, too but Louis keeps insisting that he’s happily single for now and even if he had set his eyes on someone he would be loud, sassy and witty enough to get the girl’s attention on his own.”

“I can’t blame him. Sometimes it’s easier alone.”

“True that. But I’d still love to have someone to come back home to you know? I’ve always hated being alone, maybe that’s why I immediately looked for someone to move in together after I left home. I just need people around me I can love and pamper.”

“I quite like it alone, probably one of those cliché artist’s characteristics, but it’s nice to have someone to come back to.”

“That’s true as well.”, Harry smirked, drinking from his bottle in a way that made the room feel too hot again before he put it down with a knowing smile.

“How do you feel about dancing?”

When they left the pub a few hours later Zayn was pleasantly buzzed and it made him reckless enough to let their shoulders bump while they walked or his hand squeeze Harry’s waist a little whenever he leaned against him because he just couldn’t resist it with how Harry’s eyes sparkled like they had caught a little of the glimmer of the stars above them just like they seemed to shine with sunlight during the day and his cheeks were flushed from a mixture of cold and alcohol.

“It’s been a good night. Thank you for coming.”, Harry murmured during one of those times, his firm body pressed against him for a few stumbled steps, “it meant a lot.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I had a lot of fun, too.”

Harry smiled at him drunkenly, nuzzling his chin against Zayn’s neck.

“That’s good.”

“Hmm…”, was all he could get out as an answer, everything too slow and comfortable to say more. Zayn rubbed his thumb over his shoulder, the cold an excuse to keep him close. Harry was still watching him with those green, green eyes and there were snowflakes catching in his dark eyelashes, soft dots of dazzling white. Zayn knew this was a bad idea, but he was too tired and too tipsy to care until Harry stumbled over his feet for the third time in a dimly lit, deserted street not far from the pub. They both giggled a little too loudly, Zayn instinctively holding him upright with the arm still around his waist.

“Be careful, I can’t carry you all the way.”

“I won’t. I probably should really get going though, it’s quite a long walk.”  
The words were like a load of cold water spilled over his head, instantly sobering him up. Liam had gone back to his girlfriend’s flat while they had been dancing earlier and the last thing he wanted was to be alone now.

“Why don’t you come back to mine? It’s just around the corner anyway.”

Harry smirked, leaning in a little closer until his lips were almost touching Zayn’s ear.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Because it’s working.”

“Really?”

“Yes, definitely.”

  
Then Harry was pressing even closer, hand moving down his arm for just a moment before he pulled away completely and yes, this definitely was a bad idea, but he was running out of reasons why he shouldn’t at least try it. It took him three times to get the lock of the door open with his numb fingers, Harry’s hot breath in his neck not really helping either and when they finally rushed inside to get out of the freezing cold it was too late to think about when they had last cleaned up the dishes or if his room looked at least halfway presentable.

“This is perfect. I wish our flat looked that good.”, Harry grinned as he toed of his shoes, “Who’s cleaning?”

“We share.”

  
“You’re lucky. I’d be happy if Louis learned the difference between a hoover and a duster at some point in his life.”

“Do you want tea?”

Zayn wasn’t sure what exactly the etiquette for bringing your not-quite-date home was, but he figured a cup of tea would be safe. He was proven right when Harry looked back at him with a dimpled smile.

“Yes, that would be great. Thanks.”

When he came back with two steaming mugs Harry was crouched on the floor of the tiny living room next to the kitchen looking through the sketches lying there. He looked up at the sound of his footsteps, a little smile on his lips.

“You didn’t tell me how good you really are. Those are absolutely stunning.”

  
_Not as stunning as you. I never managed to capture you_ , was what Zayn wanted to say, but all that came out was a weak “thanks.”

“Could you draw me?”

For a moment he just watched Harry, trying to figure out if he was being serious or not.

“Draw you?”

“Yes. Properly.”

“Yeah…I suppose.", Zayn said, putting the cups on the floor beside them,  " If you want to.”

“I do.”

“Alright then stay like this.”

His only answer was a dazzling smile, Harry's cheeks still a little flushed, shirt clinging to him with a thin layer of sweat left from the concert and Zayn was pretty sure he couldn’t have said no to anything at this point even if he had tried. Harry wiggled a little in anticipation like a kid about to get the present it has always wanted for Christmas, but obliged while Zayn sat down their teamugs and took the first sheet of paper he found along with the pen laying next to it. As soon as he began to draw the first line Harry’s eyes were set firmly on him with this immense intensity he had never seen with anyone else, a mixture of awe and silent wonder as if the person he was looking at was the most stunning, most captivating and most interesting thing he had ever seen. To be exposed to it himself was strangely addictive in a way that made his heart beat just a little faster and he wondered if Harry was able to feel it somehow with those green eyes that seemed to see straight through him.

Another quick move, a practiced flick of his wrist, his gaze constantly flickering between the picture taking shape on the white paper and Harry’s face in a way that was pleasantly comfortable and completely new at the same time just like everything else with him seemed to be a constant surprise he hadn’t asked for showing him things he never knew he needed.

The defined line of his jaw, a shadow on the side of his nose and Harry was moving from the sitting position he had been in until he was resting on his knees. The long curve of his neck, careful to catch the patterns of light drawn on it by the lamp on his table and Harry’s hands were at the top button of his black shirt, eyes not leaving Zayn even then, slowly opening one after the other. The artist in him continued working, a little more frantic now, trying to catch every single one of his movements, every flex of his muscles while those long fingers made their way down to the last button, but his hands were shaking, heart beating so fast at that point that Harry must have been able to hear it with every inch further down.

The dark mop of his curls falling loosely around his face after he had lost the bandana somewhere on their way to his flat, a shadow where his collarbones were exposed above the black of the swallows and the shirt was sliding down his shoulders, eyes so dark that the green looked like burning obsidian.

Zayn tried to capture this, too, the glowing expanse of porcelain skin littered with tattoos, the focused gaze, ignoring the overwhelming urge to just reach out and feel instead like he had done during the concert.

The wing of the butterfly sprawled across his ribs and Harry was on all fours, slowly crawling towards him with the same intense, focused look. He forced his eyes away, because he couldn’t lose focus now, not when he was so close to finally having what he wanted, his hand drawing in soft, drawn-out strokes. The arched line of his back, the delicious form of his thighs and Harry was in front of him so close that he could almost feel him, taking the pen out of his hand and gently removing his glasses.  
Zayn wanted to say something, tell him he wasn’t finished yet, but then Harry was kissing him, warm and solid against him and suddenly everything was spinning with too much and not enough and just right. His hands slid down the smooth expanse of skin to the swell of Harry’s hips, pulling him further into his lap, hungry lips that tasted like beer and something sweet, uniquely him moving against his until they had to break away for air, foreheads resting against each other.

“Please tell me your bedroom isn’t far away.”

  
Zayn laughed, desperate and more than little breathless, because how could this boy still say perfectly coherent things like that when he was supposed to be overwhelmed by it all just like he was?

“Next door on the right.”

Harry just hummed, leaning down to graze his teeth over Zayn’s throat with almost no pressure, the words vibrating against his skin as he spoke.

“Perfect. Whoever made this flat was a genius.”

“Stop talking and get on with it then. This is…”

Everything he might have wanted to say after that was cut off by another kiss, a little more desperate this time and then Harry was moving his hips just right and words became unnecessary.

 

                                                                                                                                              ***

 

“Harry, its’ winter, a Saturday with no lectures and much too early to be awake. Go back to sleep.”

“But I’m hungry. You can’t let me starve!”

  
“I’m an artist not a cook. If you’re lucky Liam left something in the fridge.”

  
“What if I burn your kitchen? Or get hurt?”

  
Harry was placing soft kisses on his shoulder blades now and moved a hand over his side down to his waist, scratching the skin just hard enough to be notable on his way before soothing it with the soft tip of his fingers.

“That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

His lips were at his ear now, teeth softly tugging at the soft hair in the nape of his neck and Zayn closed his eyes at the sensation.

“Yes it definitely would.”

  
“I’m glad you see it the way I do.”

Zayn could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

That was when he finally gave up all hopes of getting back to sleep any time soon and turned around to look at him properly, vision a little blurred without his glasses, but good enough to see how unfairly beautiful he was with his messed-up curls, pouty, dark lips and eyes soft with sleep and yes, he definitely didn’t mind waking up early if it meant waking up to something like that. Zayn still couldn’t believe this was all his, that he was allowed to touch and kiss without having to ask so he ran an tentative finger down from Harry’s bicep to his wrist while Harry watched him, the same kind of awe on his face he was sure was mirrored on his.

“You’re gorgeous”, Harry murmured, not even really focused on his words, just taking in the boy beside him, “I really don’t know how I got so lucky.”  
“Does that mean I get to keep you?”

He raised his hand to thumb at Harry’s jaw, all the way to where a dimple appeared in his cheek now as he smiled.

“Only if I get breakfast first.”

“Are you already trying to take advantage of me on our first day of dating officially? I’m shocked.”

  
“Who said that I won’t find a nice way to make it up to you?”

Zayn crocked an eyebrow at that.

“Like what?”

  
“Well maybe like this…”

Harry shifted his position so he was straddling his hips and an instant later his mouth was on Zayn’s collarbone, nibbling softly at the skin there before he moved further up, his hot breath leaving a trail of goose-bumps on its way. He felt how Zayn’s heart picked up pace just a little, a soft, steady thud under his lips when he reached the pulse at his neck and just the knowledge that he was able to do this, to get this beautiful boy beneath him react like that with nothing more than a simple touch made his head spin.

“Really Harry? Again?”

Harry hummed appreciatively against the skin underneath his jaw, causing Zayn to shudder while his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, then he sat up just enough to be able to look at him, a smug smile on his face.

  
“You don’t seem to mind.”

  
“Shut up and let me get some rest.”

It was meant to sound convincing, but what came out instead was more a breathy whisper, his eyes already flickering down to the red bow of Harry’s lips.  
“Make me.”

So Zayn did, leaning up to attach their lips properly, hands settling on the small of his back. This time it was the sound of footsteps directly in front of the door that caused them to pull away so fast that Harry almost fell off the bed in the process. When Liam came in a few moments later his eyes wandered from Zayn’s kiss-swollen lips to the little scratches on Harry’s bicep with a knowing smile on his face.

“Finally.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a sequel to this sometime so if you'd be interested in that please leave a comment\kudo or let me know otherwise so that I know how many people would actually read it. In case you want to talk or leave your comment there you can find me on tumblr as wordwhisper.tumblr.com Thank you for reading, cute as a button every single one of you! :)


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